


Myriad Reasons

by CeleryThesis



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeleryThesis/pseuds/CeleryThesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in between seasons two and three. Exists in the same universe as "35 things that are getting on Daryl Dixon's nerves".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myriad Reasons

Work was the only currency Carol made available, so she worked as much as she could.  She was typically the first or second up, if she didn't have watch, Hershel usually her only pre-dawn companion.  A cup of tea and then straight to work finding wood, maintaining the fire, boiling water, preparing whatever food there was to be had, going on runs, cleaning dishes and cooking implements, packing, unpacking, pitching and unpitching tents, digging and then maintaining latrines, foraging, settling the fire, watch, sleep.

They were in constantly evolving watch teams, for four and a half hour shifts, every other night.  The nine to one-thirty shift was premium. The one-thirty to five was dreaded.  Lori and Carl were exempt. Lori needed her sleep and no one protested as the idea of being on watch with Lori was worse than an extra shift.  Carol started out with Hershel, then switched to T-Dog because Daryl couldn't put up with his chattiness, then switched to Daryl because T-Dog and Hershel decided they had some zen connection.

Partly because she had nothing to say and partly because there was no one she wanted to say anything to, Carol had shut the fuck up.  There were days where she might say ten words, almost always to Hershel and almost always having to do with this or that chore.  She stayed out of Lori, Beth and Maggie's way not out of animosity but out of a complete lack of desire to relate on any level with anyone, and their number one coping mechanism was chatting. Carol's silence made her a premium watch partner to Daryl.  He would rather be by himself, but Rick had mandated the buddy system, and it wasn't a hill for dying on.

Carol would lie in her tent in a full-bloom existential crisis night after night and wonder why she didn't just put herself in the path of the next walker. It was so easy to die.  She had so little desire to do anything in life.  In fact, she hated almost everything about her current situation. So what was stopping her from just giving up? She had no idea, but it was her most basic and ever-present urge.  She amused herself by going back in time and putting on a resume under strengths: immutable self-preservation to a fault.

Her pack was a testament to it.  There were certain items that she needed to go on living and there they were.  They were the things she scouted tirelessly for--after food, of course.  Ziploc bags of all sizes, she currently had ten. Tea bags, black were the best, and she hit the mother lode a week ago at a house that had a 160 bag box of Yorkshire Gold, almost completely full.  Those suckers were now safe in their own  Ziploc in her pack.  Five pairs of clean underwear, pajama pants, one roll of toilet paper, tampons--she had found a box of OB super-plus three weeks ago and had almost cried, but she took, and to her credit, shared, all brands she found, hair-cutting scissors, baby wipes, ibuprofen, chewable vitamin C, mints, toothbrush and toothpaste.  The mints were very rare, but they could take away tastes that no toothbrush could touch, and were the perfect companion to tea that no longer had a splash of milk to mellow it. She didn't talk about her items with anyone, but she suspected everyone had their own pack of treasures; Hershel's daily coffee with a spoonful of powered creamer, for one, was direct evidence.

Every other night she sat with Daryl. Many of these nights she just fought sleep, sometimes she backed him up (generally uselessly) while he took down guests. If they were outside, they sat at the fire.  In a home, they were usually on the porch, unless it was a high traffic area, in which case they sat by the door.  Houses were increasingly rare as the herd was migrating steadily.

They were very fortunate that it was a warm autumn, and decent weather held until mid-November.  But it was getting colder by the day and darker much earlier. Carol had listened to a ridiculously spirited debate between Hershel, Glenn, T-Dog, Rick, Lori and Maggie about whether to fall back and change the watches. Hershel, T-Dog and Maggie argued passionately in the affirmative, with Rick, Glenn and Lori equally jazzed not to.  Carol hadn't said a word to Daryl for weeks, but they exchanged a look that expressed their mutual incredulity that people could waste that much passion on nonsense.  Daryl grabbed his bow and headed out; Carol sanitized the pots.  On watch later that night Daryl said, out of the blue,

"They ever decide what time it is? "

"Whose on next? "

"Hershel and T-Dog."  Daryl couldn't say T-Dog's name without explicit mockery.

"Then I guess it's midnight."

Daryl snorted. That gave them an hour extra that of course, neither of them wanted. But dutifully loyal to Rick and unceasingly dedicated to the idea of society building, Hershel was on time thirty minutes later, with T-Dog in tow.

The next day, Carol went on a run with Glenn, Maggie and T-Dog. They found a small neighborhood that wasn't overrun.  They cleared the first house easily: one walker that Glenn took down with one blow.  The kitchen was disappointing, they came away with a box of instant mashed potatoes and a jar of strawberry preserves.  Everything else was infested with bugs.  The rest of the house was promising, though.  They were skiers, so there is plenty of winter gear.  Maggie and Carol stacked it all by the door.  Carol headed for the master bedroom.  The man and woman were much larger than anyone in the group except for T-Dog, so there were few usable clothes, but Carol grabbed several quilts and blankets.  She headed to the bathroom and closed and locked the door.  Before she looked through the cabinets and drawers, she took a hand towel and climbed into the tub.  She put the towel in her mouth and screamed.  Tears wetted her face as she sobbed into the towel.  One more scream, and she ripped the towel out of her mouth, wiped her face with it, threw it on the ground and opened all the drawers. Toilet paper, toothpaste, cold medicine, three bars of soap, four large bath towels.  Not bad.

Maggie went through the children's rooms, something that Carol could not do. There were two teenaged daughters in this family, and  Maggie found jeans for all the women.  She slipped Carol a pair, wordlessly, and two pairs of underwear.  Carol shucked her current pair of dirty jeans--salvaged from the room of a preteen boy a week ago, they didn't fit well and were uncomfortable--and slipped on the new pair, which were a much better fit.  She shoved the underwear into her back pocket. They heard the tell-tale noise of increased activity, and Maggie sprinted for the car, backed it up to the door, and popped the hatch. Carol shoved the goods in the back, while Glenn and T-Dog emerged from the garage with tools.  They jumped in and sped off.  Mashed potatoes for breakfast for the next four days.  Better than usual.  Not as good as oatmeal, which is worth its weight in gold.  Better than crackers.

November came to an end.  No one tried to figure out which Thursday was Thanksgiving. Sophia had been born in December, and Carol went out of her way not to keep track of the dates.  She avoided thinking about her daughter, and aggressively pushed any thoughts of her away. Happy memories were bad, but regrets were the worst.  During the uncertain time at the farm, Carol had gone through every scenario in her head. She had dissected her behavior from the whole day Sophia went missing, and had found herself lacking in every action she could remember.  Since the farm, Carol had filed all of these thoughts away. They were not conducive to her survival.

The weather was getting colder and colder.  She and Daryl had no choice but to huddle together on watch.  There had been wishful thinking that the cold would slow the walkers down, but they showed not effects of the change in temperature.  She and Daryl still almost never talked.  They would sit in one lump for their shift and then go their separate ways wordlessly. One night, Daryl slipped his arm behind her and slowly rubbed her spine.  It jolted her; aside from incidental touching over the course of a day's work, she hadn't felt anyone else in months.  She responded by patting his leg in a terribly matronly way.  He dropped his arm, but scooted so close to her that he was practically in her lap. They sat that way until Rick and Beth relieved them at the fire at 1:30.  She climbed into her tent, got out her pajama pants and started to take off her jeans.  She wasn't that surprised to see Daryl quietly enter through the flap. She finished taking off the jeans and sat down, wrapped a blanket around her and looked up at him.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and eased her onto her sleeping bag, face down.  He carefully removed her underwear.  She heard his belt and zipper, and then he was on top of her.  She lifted her ass slightly, and he slipped into her with a barely audible groan. If he was surprised at how ready she was for him, he didn't react further.  He fucked her purposefully, but surprised her by slipping a hand under her hip and down and rubbing her with two fingers.  When he sped up and started breathing raggedly she spoke the first words she had to him in days: "Don't come inside me."  He stopped and then thrust again.  She was about to say the words _Lori Grimes_ , which she hoped would either serve as a cautionary tale or make him lose his hard-on, when he slipped out of her and came on her ass. She was close herself and was impressed and grateful when he put his hand back where it was and made her come with his fingers.  They collapsed for a few moments, and then he got up. She reached into her pack and handed him a baby wipe, which he accepted with a smirk. In a move as gentlemanly as she had experienced in a long time, he wiped her lower back off.  She put on a clean pair of underwear and her pajama bottoms and watched as he left silently from her tent. She slept very well.

In the morning they had boxed stuffing mix for breakfast.  There was no butter to add, of course, and the effect was dry, strongly seasoned and barley palatable, as well as sad.  It had a  flavor most of them associated with happier times, but instead of making them feel nostalgic, they were morose or pissed off.  Daryl left in a huff with his bow and came back about an hour later with two squirrels.  He cleaned them, and then he and Carol grilled them, and the group ate without much relish.  It was even colder that day.  Carol collected the bones to make broth.  It wasn't very tasty--it would have benefited greatly from onion, carrot and celery, but she guessed it was reasonably nutritious, and it would benefit  Lori and her baby any way.

Carol had always loved cooking back in the old life.  Besides Sophia, it was probably the thing that gave her the most joy. She painstakingly planned the menus for her family every week and scoped out new recipes. She was a decent home cook and loved to eat, as well.   There was no longer any joy what so ever in food unless you count the mere act of survival that eating represented.  Even things she would normally enjoy like freshly caught fish and grilled meat were nothing more than a means to an end. 

She had never really been overweight, but she guessed she had been at least fifteen pounds heavier than she was currently. She would always look at herself in bathroom mirrors in raid houses.  Her hair was appalling, her face looked years older, but her body was now...hot.  How ridiculous that at a good week away from serious starvation those ubiquitous images of skinny women were so ingrained in her that what she saw in the mirror, at least from behind, pleased her.

Maggie, Glenn, Daryl and Carol decided to go look for a house to hunker down in while it was so cold.  It took them hours of waiting and dodging, but they finally found a small place, away from the herd, already gutted but with a fireplace.  The front room was big enough for them all to sleep in.  Maggie and Glenn left to gather camp and bring everyone back.  Daryl worked on securing the fence.  Carol started a fire in the fire place and went out to gather as much wood as she could find around the perimeter.  She looked at Daryl and blushed in spite of herself.  Their little act of abandon the night before had been the first time since...she had to really think...since that night at the CDC, she guessed, with wine and hot showers, that she had forgotten the hell they were existing in for a moment.

Sex ranked considerably lower than food in Carol's old life.  She was constantly on the pill since they had gotten pregnant the very first month trying with Sophia.  By the time Sophia was old enough that Carol might consider having another, her situation with Ed had grown so unpleasant that she had no desire to bring another innocent into that mess.  Between Ed being a grade-A asshole and the hormonal birth control, Carol's libido was pretty much shot.  She had a vibrator, and there were certain times of the month that it might get a use.  Ed was a predictably Saturday night special kind of guy, but except on the very, very rare occasion that she actually got something out of her marital relations, it was a smile and mentally plan next week's menu kind of affair.

The group arrived and seemed pleased with the fire, at least.  No one was excited about the cramped quarters, and they all went to bed reasonably warm but hungry.  Carol and Daryl had the second watch that night, and by sunrise both were not feeling hopeful about the situation.  Daryl left immediately to go hunt, and Carol eked out a meager breakfast for the group from some stale cookies Carl had found a few days ago and the squirrel broth. Daryl came back later with a squirrel and a completely unappetizing looking bird. After they were cleaned, grilled and eaten, Daryl grabbed her arm.

"Let's go on a run."

They left in a car rather than his bike in case they found a bounty,  and started back towards the suburbs where there were a few neighborhoods they hadn't yet hit. They passed several Wal-Marts along the way, with great sadness.  They could only imagine the treasures waiting inside, but the stores were always completely overrun. Carol imagined the aisles filled with walkers, looking about as happy as Wal-Mart shoppers typically were in her experience.  After about an hour and a half of doubling back, they finally found a suitable street with large, mcmansion style houses.  There were too many walkers on the street and it was too close to the herd  for it to be good lodging for the group, but they hoped there was food.  They were pleasantly surprised.  The house took a while to clear, but it looked like they were the first human visitors in a long while.  The former occupants had been Costco shoppers, apparently, and there was enough food for the group for at least two weeks.  Daryl was almost giddy. He grabbed a bottle of Merlot off the wine rack and brought it into the living room. 

"I'm going to build a fire." He broke up some dining room chairs and lit them in the fireplace.

Carol was not sure at all that it was prudent or that there was time, but she hadn't slept in 24 hours, and her judgement was off.  Plus, she trusted Daryl. She found a corkscrew in the kitchen and two wine glasses and put a blanket on the floor in front of the rather impressive fire.  The burning varnish on the chairs gave off some fairly nasty fumes, but otherwise, it was cozy.  She popped the cork out of the wine and slipped Daryl a glass.

He looked so wrong drinking wine out of a glass, it made her giggle.

"Shut up." He growled with a smirk. "Is this supposed to be good?"

"It's not bad at all."

"Are you a wine drinker?" He said the word wine with about three syllables and in the same tone one would ask someone if they had an elephant for a pet. "Ed didn't seem like a wine guy."

"I met Ed when I was 32." She said, offering nothing else.  Ed wasn't much of a wine drinker, but she always had a bottle on hand.  Before Ed, she had been involved with a man, Michael, getting his PhD in English at the University of Georgia.  Much wine had been consumed. Michael dumped her around the time she was fairly certain he was going to propose and that they were going to get married and have babies.  She had met Ed about six weeks later, and within a year they were married, and she was pregnant.

They finished their glasses, and Daryl got up to look out the window.  When he turned back, he looked at her in a way that shot fire throughout her body.  He walked back to the blanket and placed her on her back.  He unzipped her jeans and pulled them down.

"What the hell?"

She looked down at what had caused his outburst.  She had lacy, pink underwear with a sparkly Hello Kitty face looking up at him in all her mouthless glory.

"They're clean. And I didn't know anyone would see them."

"Shut up."  He peeled them off and unbuckled and unzipped himself.  She opened her knees and he entered her again without fanfare.  He put his hand under her shirt and fumbled with her ragged bra.  She was careful with it because it was very hard to find one that fit.  She reached back and unclasped it  and pulled it through a sleeve.  He lifted her shirt and put his mouth on one breast and then the other while thrusting deeply into her.  It was the best she had felt in as long as she could remember, and she didn't want it to be over any time soon.  He lasted a bit longer this time but finally pulled out and came on her belly.  With his mouth still on her nipple he made her come quickly with his hand.  The nipple hardened in his mouth and he sucked it luxuriously before sitting up and refastening his pants.  She walked without shame to a bedroom and found some ill-fitting underwear, but modest, white cotton this time and put her jeans back on. They gathered up their treasures, left the wine, loaded up the car and headed back.

The trip was just as hard as the first and it was getting dark quickly.

"We're not going to last very long in that house," Daryl said with his eyes firmly on the road.

"I'd be surprised if we lasted a week."

"People just had to fuck it up at the farm," his words were filled with disgust.

"I wouldn't have survived on the farm," she replied.

"You're so happy now?" He sneered at her.

"Am I happy?" Her voice was louder than it had been in months.  It was surprisingly exhilarating. "Shut up and drive."

He punched her in the arm, and she punched him back.  They drove in silence the rest of the way, but she looked over at him once and he had a tiny smile on his face.

It was pitch black when they got back to the house, and the folks ran out to help them unpack the food.  She hung back with Daryl, just for a minute.

"No watch tonight, get some sleep," he said and walked off.

 

 


End file.
